


He Left and I Transformed [Shifters prompts]

by boltshok



Category: Rostronair [KJfromColors]
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltshok/pseuds/boltshok
Summary: After Icefall's sudden abduction, Landguard must fend for himself in new territory. After being hunted by humans, he seeks to rescue his mate. Will he succeed?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rostronairs are a closed species by KJfromColors! Find them on DeviantArt and Discord :)

Consciousness returned with the pressure. 

The weight started light before turning into a sinking, clawing heaviness, and he was content to let it claim him until the pain alit on his spine.

His body reacted before his mind did, neck curling, teeth flashing, jaws closing just behind the tail of the vulture perched on his shoulder. Eyes rolling, he forced himself up, fingers and palms whispering through soft ash to find purchase on the solid ground beneath. He felt the hot blood from the wound opened by the scavenger trickle down his shoulder, but for the moment the pain was forgotten. Before him laid the burned out hole of his den, no, their den, charred and destroyed just as completely as the forest surrounding it.

How he survived... no. It’s too miraculous to consider. 

Shaking his head, he tried to clear the fog penetrating his mind and came to the realization he was thirsty. So incredibly thirsty. 

His hooves were heavy, his hands felt cracked and burnt, and each step towards the meadow lake furthered the burning pain in his shoulders. Upon reaching the edge of the burned forest floor he had an urge to look back—he was alive, right? Not just a lingering spirit. 

The dead don’t feel thirst.

Just a quick glance. 

He cast his eye over his tail and spotted nothing but char between him and the den. 

Alive it is.

As he passed into the meadow, thankfully still green and bright, he caught a glimpse of the vulture overhead, circling. Searching. He won’t be a meal today. The lake resided some lengths away from the treeline, and Landguard approached tentatively, flattening himself in the greenery as much as his injury would allow. His dark pelt against the grass stood out to a degree, but at least he’d have a chance to flee if there were more humans nearby and he spotted them before they saw him. 

He crept to the edge of the lake and took a few steps into the water, letting it soothe his hands and arms while he drank.

Thirst finally satisfied, he lifted his head and studied the wound on his shoulders. It was a deep burn, already bubbling with clear weeping fluid, and he hissed when he shifted his shoulders and it cracked open to release more fluid. Sure, he’d been injured before, but nothing like this, nothing so major. He knew how to clean smaller cuts and apply some herbs, but this was like nothing he’d ever seen. No one at home had been injured this way and survived.

To the wind with that.

Shaking his head, he sludged deeper into the lake, the water splashing up on his hide and washing off the ash and soot from his burned home. His tail floated along the top of the water behind him like a shimmery train before it finally sunk, waterlogged. 

What happened last night?

Closing his eyes he dunked his head underneath, scrubbing with both front hands to clean his face and his mind. Last night, last night... for an instant he opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the muck on the lakebottom before he jerked his head out of the water, gasping. As the water streamed down his face the memory floated to the surface.

Fire. 

Shouting.

His mate, screaming as they’re separated in the fire. Humans bearing spears, torches, and rope surrounded them.

The fire raged and roared around them, eating trees and underbrush alike. A tree fell between them and Landguard watched his mate shy away from the burning wood before a rope was thrown over their neck, around one of their hands, across their muzzle. He reached for them as another tree lost its footing in the ground and tipped, nearly crashing down on top of him and pinning him underneath one of its branches. 

Pain seared into his back and he cried out in pain before it overwhelmed him and sent his vision tunneling to darkness. A black boot landed heavily in front of his beak, a golden medallion swinging off of the laces.

He saw no more.

Chest heaving, Landguard sat down in the water and huddled in on himself, heart racing. His mate was taken by humans. His mate was taken by humans. What happened after that? Where were they now?

Why didn’t they take him?

A few birds burst out of the bushes on the far side of the lake, flying up and away into the sky. That’s the last straw. Landguard lurched to his feet and dashed up the bank and into the charred trees. His shoulders are burning with the sudden movement but he can’t afford a fight right now. Before he can realize how far he’s run he is standing before the destroyed den, gasping for breath.

Humans took his mate but left him behind. 

He has to find them. 

A new dribble of blood ran over his shoulder and dripped off his elbow. He allowed his eyes to roam over the crisped husk of their den, half above ground and half below, bolstered against a large tree now burned to a black charcoal. The supports on the one free standing wall were tipped over and the roof was nonexistent, having been made of woven grass, wooden shingles, and mud. Inside— he can barely stand to look at their nest—nothing appears to be salvageable. 

He eased into the demolished structure and put his hands on the countertop where they prepared food. It was one of the few pieces still standing since it was made of a very solid slab of wood, still green and not quite cured. Even so, the edge was crumbling under his worrying fingers. He leaned his forehead against his hands and took a deep breath. So many things were lost. Their bonding tapestry. The silly bowls of body paint his mate liked to play with. Seeds, little wood carvings, a single bone from their first kill; the little reminders of their respective birth clans. 

A round object met the fingers of his back right hand still on the floor. Sitting down, he picked it up and rubbed the soot off before studying it. 

It’s a single teardrop gem from a necklace his mate used to wear. The aquamarine had darkened in the fire but it was still blue and crystalline. It was nearly the color of his mate’s tail feather.

Tears swelled in his eyes before he could blink them away and he began to weep leaning against the counter. He’d heard stories of rostros that were abducted by humans, and very rarely did they escape alive. 

No. He wouldn’t let that happen to his mate. He’d... he’d find them, and save them. They could build a new home together, in another warm forest far from the humans.

The humans.

He knew there were human settlements everywhere, so travel would be difficult. But he had to try.

He must.

Sniffling up the rest of his tears Landguard rubbed his hands over his face to dry his cheeks. He had to find shelter before nightfall, first. And maybe some food. Clutching the gem tight, he slunk out of their den, looking back only once. 

He would find them.  
...  
It was midday by the time he reached trees untouched by fire. His shoulders were throbbing, the wound was still open and leaking. None of the plants he passed were familiar to him. He and his mate had only recently established themselves in this territory, they both hailed from mountain clans. How he wished he was home, with his mother and the clan healer to bandage his burn and assure him his mate was still out there, alive and whole. 

A series of birds flushed from a bush to his right and one passed directly in front of his maw. How unlucky. As soon as he killed it, sharp teeth breaking skin and bone, he muttered his thanks to the old gods. If they were out there, maybe they were watching out for him.

Or maybe animals are just stupid.

He found a shady hollow to have his meal, picking feathers off and starting up a small fire to roast the carcass over. While it was cooking, he tried to shoo the flies away that had started to gather around his burn but it was fruitless. Eat or scare one away and two more came in to take its place. He ate like that, flies buzzing on his back and the smell of fresh-roasted grouse in his nostrils.

With meat in his belly and the warmth of the day surrounding him, Landguard sighed and laid his head on a neighboring log. It would be nice just to close his eyes for a moment...  
...  
A shout woke him. It was just as well; it was a dreamless sleep, like waking with the vulture was. There was no light. He’d slept through the day well into the dusky night.

Another shout. Landguard recognized it as a human’s voice, and it sounded close. Too close for comfort. 

Stamping out the remaining coals with one hoof, he peeked out of the hollow and tried to pinpoint the source of the voice. While he stood there listening, another voice joined the first, then the sound of a dog baying.

He knew humans hunted with dogs. Was this a hunt... for him? 

He wasn’t willing to find out.

Grabbing the aquamarine, he darted out onto the path and charged ahead deeper into the forest. Why hadn’t he paid more attention on their travels from the mountain? He couldn’t remember the ins and outs of this area. If only the moon was out. It was barely a sliver tonight, and provided little in the way of light.

Branches slapped against his sides as he ran, and when a root caught on his hoof he stumbled without his fourth hand to catch himself. Crashing face-first into a bush, mere feet from a fallen log, Landguard groaned when the branches scratched over the burn on his back. He needed all of his hands, what if he needed to fight? But he couldn’t just leave the gem behind, it was the only physical remainder he had of his mate. The underbrush was rustling about twenty feet away; the dogs were nearly upon him. 

He did the only thing he could. He tossed the gem in his mouth and swallowed it before pushing himself upright. As he was considering facing the dogs head-on one exploded out of the bushes onto the path and sprinted up to him, barking and snapping. Landguard’s ears flattened and his lips curled up in a snarl as he danced away from the dog, body twisting to evade its teeth. 

A second dog joined the first, leaping for his shoulder. Unsheathing his claws, Landguard swiped at it and managed to bat it away. A few lengths past them, a human bearing a torch came into view. He had to escape now or risk a full on fight. 

Turning on his heel, he lashed out and caught one dog in the ribs with a hoof and sent it squealing back to its master. The other latched onto his forearm and Landguard bellowed in pain before he closed his jaws over the dog’s head, teeth sinking into its hardened, muscular neck. It’s a battle of wills as he spun around, dog hanging on and refusing to let go despite the blood flooding its fur. 

When it lost consciousness he pried its jaws open and ducked behind the log, huddling down. He prodded at the bite in his forearm and hissed when he felt the punctures left by the dog’s teeth. Blood stained his fingertips and he wiped it into the dirt.

The human made it onto the path and rushed over to its dog. Landguard pressed himself against the ground, mouth opening to ease the rush of his breathing. A second human worked its way out of the trees, crouching next to the first. Their guttural, basic dialect was grinding in Landguard’s ears but he forced himself to stay still. What were they saying?

While they were busy chattering amongst themselves, he backed away from the log and slipped into the brush, relying on his dark coat to hide himself.  
...  
“Something big,” Harth growled, lowering the torch to bring light to the dog’s wounds. “A bear or a lion, I’m guessing. Look at the size of the bite.”

“A bear doesn’t have feathers,” Pomona replied, picking up a shimmering strand near the fallen log, fifteen feet or so from where the dog’s carcass lay. “Look at this.”

“Probably just from some tropical bird,” Harth muttered, not bothering to look up. “We need to move on. Terric found that creature not far from here, maybe there’s more.”

Pomona tossed the feather into Harth’s lap before he gave him a boot in the side. Harth lurched over and gasped fruitlessly for air while Pomona settled his booted foot on his shoulder, gesticulating wildly at him.

“You imbecile, that wasn’t just some creature. Those things are myth made flesh. And they’re worth more than our weight in gold to the right buyer.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harth wheezed. “You’re right. Completely right. Totally right—“

Pomona leaned his weight hard on the man beneath him. “I know it. Now get up. We need to ride and track it. It’s wounded, the dog’s bloody.”

Kicking Harth onto his front, Pomona strode off the way they came through the forest. Pushing himself slowly up, Harth ran his hands over the dog’s body. It was one of his favorite hunting dogs... but Pomona was right. Its mouth was bloodstained.

After a moment lingering over the body, he tied the feathery strand around its neck and stood up, stumbling after Pomona.


	2. Chapter 2

Sweltering heat laid over the forest, blazing through the thinning branches of the trees leading towards the mountains. Landguard knew he was going in the right direction to reach them but not if they were the crags he once called home. As he passed under a low branch he forced himself not to scratch the burn on his shoulder. The gnawing, crawling, nibbling sensation in the burn started on the second day of his journey, and under closer inspection he found that maggots had formed. At first it made him gag, but after he watched them hard at work eating the dead flesh of the injury an old memory from his puphood bubbled up. 

One of the clan hunters—long passed now—returned from a hunt with a gash in his side from a wild pig. He was a prideful person and always sought the biggest prey, though his prey often fought back. The old boar was wise to the rostronair clan and had avoided death many times before, something the hunter didn’t acknowledge before attempting the hunt by himself. Injured so severely, he did not return to the clan for several days, and when he did the wound was already infected and filled with maggots. Contrary to the belief of others in the clan, the healer left them alone, something even Landguard’s mother questioned, but within the moon the wound was closing. That hunter lived. 

If the clan healer left them, then by the moon he could learn to live with it. The wiggling was only noticeable when he was very still. 

He had been traveling for two days, hoping to outpace the hunters chasing him, but it was slow going by his standards—the dog bite ached when he put weight on his arm, leaving him down a limb to run with. It was fine... but awkward. At any rate, he tried not to stop for too long. Lingering put him at risk. 

There was an opening in the trees up ahead. Landguard turned his gaze to the distance and tried to determine his location. He could see the peaks of his destination, but the mountain was still several hours away. Near the lowest part of the pass, he caught a glimpse of watery mist rising from a rocky outcrop. Must be a waterfall or stream near there. That would be a good place to stop for the night. 

He held his bad arm closer to his chest to rest it and pushed ahead.   
...  
The aquamarine still hadn’t returned to him yet. Either it was stuck somewhere in his digestive tract or he hadn’t eaten enough to... bring it out. He wished it would come back (or out, he thought) because he wanted to see its color, feel its smooth, shiny surface, and think of his mate.

His mate.

He had not forgotten. He was... merely disadvantaged right now. If he could return home then perhaps he could gather some supplies and forge ahead. Living meal to meal was wearing on him.

As dusk was closing in he reached the bottom of the rock formation and discovered there was indeed a waterfall there, spewing out of a crevice high up the face of the mountain. Growling to himself he clawed his way up, hooves sure in the nooks and crannies of the stone. He’d been climbing most of his life in his birth clan and needed little help reaching the zenith. 

The ledge was not bare as he expected, but held an enormous statue of a rostronair more than three times his height. The waterfall cascaded down in front of it, wetting the rock it rested on. Two of the figure’s hands were held above its head reverently while the other two were open to the gulley below. One of the uplifted hands had broken off with age and now rested at the monument’s feet. The tail feather had also crumbled away and littered the ground behind the statue, leading towards a cave opening just big enough for a rostronair to enter. Bunches of mountain herbs grew out from between the statue’s feet, and Landguard gratefully sat down and ate a few. He hated them as a pup, but now they brought him comfort. Flecks of water splashed up on his legs from the falls above, and after his belly was settled with herbs he approached the edge.

A quick peek over the ledge revealed the startling height he had climbed. Was the top really this high up? He studied where the rushing water changed into mist and disappeared below into jagged rocks. That would be a nasty fall. 

On the other side of the monument he found an ancient carved staircase leading down the other side of the peak. A layer of moss covered most of their surfaces, and he sniffed at it cautiously. These stairs weren’t in use, the moss would make them dangerous to climb and they smelled old. Natural.

The light began to change, and he lifted his head to the sky. Night was falling. As the darkness crawled over the mountain the eyes of the monument began to glow softly with blue light, but something about the way they looked at him put Landguard at ease. After inspecting the interior of the cave he curled up against the wall and hid his face under his tail feather. This far off the ground... this far away... he should be safe from the hunters.

He slept.  
...  
Ice-white fur. 

Shimmering jewelry.

A murmur, a gentle touch, then a lick to his neck—

Landguard woke with a start, hooves kicking out as he launched himself upright, limbs trembling. He was sweaty and sticky, and his shoulder was wet. In his slumber he missed the inklings of a rainstorm, and it had flooded not only the ledge but the rock above the cave which then dripped onto his pelt.

Uncurled from his safe position he felt chilled, and shook his head to clear the dream. He was thankful for the rainstorm, and from inside the cave he watched it come down hard outside. That should wash his scent away from the trails he used to travel here. He would be safe.

Approaching the mouth of the cave, he paused. His arm didn’t hurt as much now. Sitting down, he lifted it and inspected the skin carefully. The bite appeared smaller, shallower. Was it healing already? 

A blip of light flashed outside, and then immediately after came the crash of thunder. 

Yes. This would be the perfect storm to hide his tracks.

He laid back down, this time out of the wet trickle, and lowered his head to his hands. Sleep filtered in like starlight through the clouds.  
...  
“That thing’s bleedin’,” Pomona observed, stopping to finger a patch of bloody leaves next to the creek. “Can’t be too far off.”

Harth sighed and gazed off into the distance. She was his favorite hunting dog... always had a deep bite...

“Stop daydreaming, let’s ride,” Pomona growled, swinging back into the saddle. “Keep the dogs muzzled but let them run. They’ll take us right to it.”  
...  
When he awoke, the rain had stopped. The light told him it was early afternoon, and for the first time in three days he felt rested. 

He’d never been one to wake early, but his mate was. Landguard could hear the gentle admonishment from them in his ear as if they were still there. 

“What are you doing? You’re missing the morning light.”

“I know,” he mumbled and pulled himself to his feet. “Morning light’s good for me.”

Stumbling outside, he stretched one cloven foot, then the other, before he walked to the ledge and looked out over the stretch of country he just came from. He couldn’t see anything telling out there. No smoke, no human noises. Relief filled his chest. He was out of reach, this high up, and they hadn’t found him. 

He figured the stone stairs led to the pool beneath the waterfall and he hadn’t seen a way around it when he first arrived. He was safe here. 

Speaking of water, he was thirsty. Cautiously making his way down the first few steps, he gained his feet and worked down the slick, wet steps to the bottom. The ground was muddy underneath the layer of moss and lichen, and it squished up between his fingers as he approached the water. The ground was relatively undisturbed, but he knew up here animals used these water sources. The surviving scents along the bank were muddled and hard to distinguish, but he could recognize the musk of a deer. Maybe he would eat well tonight if he laid a strong ambush.

The falls filled a pool that ran out in two directions—one towards the forested valley he just came from, and the other past the stairs down a steepening slope. 

The world was eerily still down by the stream, and he tentatively lowered his head to drink. Weren’t the frogs breeding at this time of year...?

A growl is the only warning he had before a new trio of hunting dogs rushed him from the pool below the waterfall. Rearing back, he had only moments to unsheathe his claws and swipe at them. He caught the first full on in the face, but the others escaped and snapped at his arms. 

Dancing away on his hind legs, Landguard backed towards the stairs. Where had they come from? He should have been protected here after the storm!   
...  
While the dogs cornered the beast, Harth and Pomona crept around the edge of the pool. Harth held a coil of rope while Pomona drew a swirling mass of water from the stream. After sharing a glance they stormed out to face the creature. The beast they were hunting snapped at the dogs but it was cornered and successfully being driven toward the staircase and did not acknowledge the two men. When one of the dogs leaped at its shoulder and tore flesh, drawing a yowl and corresponding swat from the beast, Harth slowed, rope held tight in his hands. He turned to his companion, who was focused intently on the dogs. 

“Pomona, we need it intact,” Harth pleaded. “Do it now, we’ve got it cornered!”

“We need it alive,” Pomona corrected sharply, and Harth returned his gaze to the beast as it turned and fled up the staircase, hooves sliding in the moss. 

The dogs followed easily, baying and barking. Pomona is after them in a heartbeat, Harth reluctantly following.  
...  
Landguard was trapped. There was no way he could climb down the other side of the rock quick enough to escape the dogs, let alone the men. He faced the statue and then was forced to deal with the dogs again, backing up until his back was flush with the monument’s colossal rump to brace himself and allow all four of his clawed hands to fend off the dogs. 

When the men crested the steps Landguard roared at the dogs and forced his way through them. The only way down was into the pool beneath the waterfall. 

Teetering on the edge between the statue’s feet, Landguard hesitated. The sharp rocks... dense mist...

As he was about to leap, a rope lasso curled around one of his back legs and tugged him towards the monument. 

Fine. They want a fight? He’ll fight. 

Wheeling around on the two men, Landguard rushed at them, teeth flashing, only to receive a faceful of water.   
...  
On the top of the boulder, the beast stood before the ancient monument, caught between the dogs and the drop. When its hindquarters tensed as if to jump Harth tossed a loop and caught one of its hooves, pulling it back. It turned to fight and Pomona swept the water in his control over its face, depriving it of breath for several seconds. The dogs latched onto its limbs while it struggled inside the bubble of water, and only when Harth was ready with the rope did Pomona release his control on it. 

When the water fell away, Harth threw another lasso around the beast’s neck and then its snout before he and Pomona both grabbed a rope and tugged it down. Still waterlogged, the creature wheezed and gasped for air, unable to writhe away. It pawed at the muzzle, eyes rolling, but the rope is looped too firmly around its face. With the dogs pulling on its legs, it sank to its knees with an agonized groan. 

“Hold it steady,” Harth said, approaching slowly. Caught between the dogs and the rope the beast could only growl at him. 

Harth took a stained rag out of a waxy bag at his hip and leaned in before he pressed it over Landguard’s nose. In moments the creature was unconscious and slumped to the ground. 

“Alright, you, get off,” Harth said, nudging one of the dogs with his knee. 

It took them several moments of cooling down before the first loosened its bite on the creature’s leg. As they came away he fed them bits of dried meat from another bag on his belt. 

“Tie it up,” Pomona grunted, crossing the ledge to inspect the cave. “I must rest.”

Harth watched him sit at the mouth of the cave and bowed his head. He’ll be out for a few hours, Harth thought. Plenty of time to bind the creature properly and dress its wounds... after he snuck in a nap of his own. 

After the beast’s feet and hands were properly shackled and bound, Harth gathered the dogs and parked them next to the statue while he settled down for a nap. If the beast moved... he’d hear it...


	3. Defeated

Landguard came to at dusk. Voices shouting unrecognizable words surrounded him like a dense fog. As the swimming sensation in his eyes and head throbbed, he discovered that he still laid at the feet of the statue. The wound between his shoulders hurt, but the burn from the dog bites in his arms was gone. 

He stretched and felt a strange sensation in his back legs. His hooves were... soft?

Lifting his head, his vision started to swim again but the body he looked down at was not his own. It was one of  _ their _ bodies, a fleshy, soft, human form. That was weird enough, but his entire new body  _ ached _ bone-deep. He groaned softly and the shouting voices quieted. A strange hand grabbed the rope around his chest and dragged him into a sitting position.

One of the human hunters, the one who flung the water, leaned in real close and said something in their strange, guttural language. The sudden movement was more than enough to send Landguard’s equilibrium spinning again and he was happy to let the blackness take him again.

...

The next time he woke up he was staring up at the sky, clouds floating by serenely. He tried to move and discovered he was tied down, on his back, and he was no longer beside the monument. Stalks of grass tickled his sides, and with what limited movement he still had he looked to the right, the left, and saw tree trunks and the main trail through the forest he had just fed a couple days ago. Something itchy was wrapped around his waist and he tried to wriggle free of it but that was futile. It was tied on.

His mouth was dry, so dry. Whatever strange happening had occurred to his body it took the wet of his mouth along with it.

“Water,” he croaked, lips chapped and voice hoarse. “Water... water...”

It was then he noticed it wasn’t the clouds moving but himself. He forced his head back against the contraption he was lying in and recognized the hindquarters of a horse. They were skittish, stupid creatures, but he couldn’t blame the humans for riding them. Without the power of six limbs, they weren’t very fast on their own two feet. 

“Water,” he tried again, and this time the horse came to a stop. 

Now that the horse wasn’t moving he could sense the dogs trotting past in the underbrush, but they paid him little attention and were much interested in chasing rodents. Footsteps slid to the ground and approached him, and the other man, the one with the understanding eyes and the dogs, crouched next to him. 

“What was that?”

Landguard couldn’t tell what he was saying, but he could make out that it was a question.

“Water,” he repeated. “...please.”

The man studied him, then reached out and felt his face with his palm. Landguard wanted to pull away, but tied down and weakened by this transformation he could only shift a little. Drawing his hand back, the man stood up and retrieved a waterskin from the horse’s many bags and knelt next to Landguard slowly.

“Hurry up! We don’t have all day,” his companion growled, but the man with kind eyes didn’t respond and simply uncorked the skin and brought it to Landguard’s lips.

The water wasn’t cool and it tasted of leather but it was the most refreshing drink he had had since the fire. He drank so quickly some went the wrong way and he coughed it up, the man pausing to let him work it out before giving him more.

“Harth! Put your ass in the saddle and let’s  _ go!  _ We need to send a hawk to Hakon as soon as possible—who knows if his beast... changed.”

“Hang on!” Harth called, shuffling in the bags on his belt before he produced a small wad of... dried meat? 

He dribbled a little water on it before tearing it in half and stuffing it into Landguard’s mouth. It was still fairly dry and hard, but as he worked it with his teeth it started to soften up. The man put a hand on his shoulder gently before he stood, put the other half in his own mouth, and walked back to his horse.

While he chewed, Landguard could hear them arguing. At the moment, he could care less—his gut had flared to life and he was  _ hungry _ . 

...

“It’s not a guest, Harth,” Pomona told him as Harth swung back into the saddle of his black and white paint mare.

“I know, but he’s a person-”

“It’s a beast! Just because it wears a human skin now doesn’t mean that it can’t change back and kill us both in our sleep.”

“Even more reason to make friends,” Harth said sullenly, urging his mare to move. “We’re not that far from town anyway.”

Pomona scrubbed his face with one hand before he kicked his bay into action. The pack horse behind him lurched into motion to follow, and for a time he was content to let Harth lead. Like it or not, Harth was the only one with good relations with the hunting dogs and he was... a friend.

The ride to town passed slowly. With the stretcher tied to the pack horse they couldn’t go very fast when the ground turned bumpy lest the contraption broke apart. Neither of them wanted to see if the creature they captured could change shape at will, so releasing it to be tied to a horse’s back was out of the question.

At the creek outside the town, they stopped to refill their water supply and give the horses a chance to drink. Harth fed their captive more pemmican and water, and once Pomona’s big bay finished guzzling water they were off again. The town was only half an hour away at best.

...

While they rode, Landguard tried to parse out what they had said, but without a point of reference their words still meant nothing to him. What were they going to do with him? He wasn’t dead (yet) so he hoped it wouldn’t be anything mortal.

The trail they were leaving behind was the last connection to anyplace and anyone he actually knew. His home, his family... the burned out shell of his den.

He was pulled from his thoughts as other voices joined in with the men’s until there was a growing cacophony of whispers around him. They had arrived at a settlement with many, many, many more humans milling about. Something about the place reminded him of his birth clan; maybe it was watching the people walk around and barter wares with others.

...

“Take the captive. Find an inn for the night,” Pomona growled, riding up to the messaging outpost. “I’ll send the message to Hakon.” 

The building was one of the few stone structures in the village, with a tall spire filled with messenger birds. This town was barely more than a developed village. The other buildings were wood, the roofs wood covered in pitch, and the townsfolk were mainly farming, working-type people. Since it wasn’t near a main road, there was no knights’ outpost for messaging and all messages needed to be sent by bird to the next major city, Durmchapel.

Pomona slid down from his saddle and tied the reins to the hitching rail outside the building before he swapped the lead to the pack horse to Harth’s paint. Harth glanced over at him and huffed before whistling to his dogs. They followed Landguard’s stretcher sedately, barely giving him a second glance. The townsfolk peered down at him as his body was drug along. 

They arrived at a building near the outskirts of town. It’s large, but falling down, and Harth dismounted to lead the horse inside. The ceiling is high and steepled, with a second level made out of wood some ways up. Landguard caught a glimpse of bundles of dried grass up there, much like the layer covering the ground. Harth unhooked the pack horse from his paint and tied it to a post inside before he took his horse out of view. Landguard tried to crane his neck to look but couldn't see him. The longer he was unattended, the faster his mind spun. What will happen to him now? What was he doing with the horse?

He tested the limits of the rope binding his arms. Too tight, dammit. But, he could wiggle a little, and he tried to roll onto his shoulder. Maybe he can scare the horse and it will release his contraption. His body flopped around on the stretcher but nothing loosened. Turning his eyes on the open door, he found the hunting dogs staring at him, not daring to come inside but not moving away, either. He tried to growl at them but only a weak noise came from his lips. His body ached from the bindings and whatever magical ordeal happened to him at the monument. 

His mind wandered back to the monument, and he remembered what the taste of the mountain water, the mud, the very  _ air _ felt like. He lived in those moments for so long he startled when Harth returned to him and unbound the stretcher from the horse before leading the horse away. This time he was not absent for nearly as long before he came back.

Harth carefully untied him from the stretcher, keeping his hands bound. His legs were free to stumble around while Harth walked him over to one of the wooden poles holding up the roof of the building and tied him to it with a rope around the bindings on his wrists. His body was screaming now, after not moving for so long and now being forced to cooperate. He didn’t even realize that Harth was speaking until his gaze was captured by the movements and gesticulations he was making with his hands. Eventually he stopped, stopped moving, stopped speaking. He simply looked down at Landguard and smoothed the unruly hair on his head before returning to his dogs at the entrance. Looking back at Landguard, he stepped outside and shut the door.

It was blissful to be alone. He wasn’t truly alone, the horses were creatures of soft natural noises, but they were unobtrusive. Peaceful. Landguard closed his eyes and leaned his head against the pole. He had been captured... taken by humans... how was he going to find his mate now? Landguard prayed to the gods they were still alive. They had to be. He needed them to be.

He tried to think back on that night. That horrible, terrible, burning-hot night. He hadn’t stopped to give it much thought, having run from his den to the mountains and straight into the humans’ trap. The longer he pondered over the few fragments he could remember, the faster his pulse grew until he was sweating, panting, unable to pull away from his bindings, unable to move, to think, to  _ breathe _ — 

He wore himself out like that. He fell into the hay and curled into a ball and tried to hear the horses through the blood rushing in his ears.

Sleep must have taken him, because he awoke when Harth returned later that evening with food in an earthenware bowl. At first he wasn’t hungry, but upon smelling whatever it was Harth brought him, Landguard ate heartily, bound hands working as one to put the tender bits of red meat and vegetables in his mouth.

When the bowl was empty, he set it aside and laid back down in the hay. His body still ached, but being able to shift and move and stretch was improving it steadily. When it grew darker outside, he pulled a layer of hay over himself and slept.

...

_ Smoke. Heavy smoke, and ash, raining down from the trees above. His mate’s pelt was visible through the flames, but they were cut off. Can’t reach them. Can only watch. _

_ “Landguard!” _

He jerked awake, the voice of his mate still ringing in his ears. Sitting up, something about his body felt... right. He opened his eyes and was greeted by his own familiar night-vision and four dark hands propping himself up in the hay.

His body had changed again! He was himself!

Those blasted ropes were still tied around his wrists, but no matter. His teeth made short work of them, and finally he stood free. There’s a noise outside—Landguard growled softly and leapt up to the second level, landing softly on all his hands to quiet the impact of his hooves. The door to the barn slid open and Landguard shuffled behind the hay bales, hunkering down and peeking down at the man entering the barn through a crack in the plank floor. He was carrying a lamp, and through the crack Landguard could tell it was Harth’s companion, the man with the water abilities.

“Dammit! It changed back. Harth, I warned you,” Pomona growled.

“He seemed exhausted! I didn’t think he... he  _ could _ ,” Pomona jittered. “He was passed out when I left.”

Landguard glanced at the door. It was open... he could make out early morning light. Soon it would be too bright to escape, he’d be seen. He took a slow step toward a nearby window and under his hooves the floor creaked. The attention of the two men was drawn to him instantly.

“I know you’re there,” Pomona growled sharply. “Harth! Get the dogs. We might have to go hunting again.”

When Harth disappeared and returned with the dogs, already yapping in excitement, Landguard snarled and fled for the window, landing on the sill before looking outside, sharp eyes taking in the empty streets, the darkened buildings nearby. He could make it. He could.

The leap to the ground was farther than he anticipated and the shock raced up his forearms and legs. The stinging, crackling pain hurt but he forced his body to move, to stagger away from the barn. He knew the men were following him, he could hear the dogs, and as he burst around the corner of the barn, making for the forest, Harth rushed out to meet him head on, the dogs at his side. Skidding to a halt, Landguard tried to turn but encountered the other man.

He was trapped. Again.

He looked back at Harth, short mane bristling. He was awake now, he had all his limbs, he would fight. Fight and escape. His claws unsheathed and slid into the dirt, flexing unconsciously while he thought out his plan of attack.

“Stop, stop, please,” Harth pleaded, and something about his tone of voice drew Landguard’s gaze. 

From his pocket he retrieved a piece of silver chain and let it dangle from his fingers. Landguard recognized it immediately. It was one of his mate’s bracelets made of woven chain. It was a gift from their parents for their first successful hunt. 

“We know where they are,” Harth said slowly, putting his hand out to calm the dogs. “We can help you find him. We—”

He lifted his hand and pointed at himself, then Pomona. 

“ _ We _ can help  _ you, _ ” he pointed at Landguard, “find  _ him _ .”

He jingled the bracelet, and Landguard bit back the snarl in his throat. He might not know the language but he could tell they knew something about his mate. Their whereabouts, maybe. Or their fate.

This time, he did snarl. What kind of cruel, fateful twist was this? But he had the bracelet, and oh, how he wanted it. Lifting one hand, he pointed with his taloned index finger at it.

“You want this?” Harth asked, then pointed at Landguard before jingling the bracelet again.

They can communicate. Landguard nodded, once, and Harth took a step closer. Growling, he lifted his tail feather in warning. Careful.

Harth nodded and stuffed his empty hand in his pocket before coming up with the vial and cloth of foul medicine that made Landguard pass out back on the mountain.

“If I give you this, you have to come with us,” Harth said, jingling the bracelet. “And you can’t look like that. This,” he shook the bottle, “will you turn you into... into one of us. Into-” he made a walking motion with two of his fingers. “Into one of us.  _ Human _ .”

That was one word Landguard recognized. Human. The bracelet... to be human.

Surely he could find his mate without them. He could- could sniff them out, could... could track them. He took an impromptu whiff of his surroundings but only found human-scent. He looked back at Harth’s companion briefly before returning his gaze to the bracelet. Even being a couple hours outside of his den’s forest, he didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know humans were so  _ coordinated. _

In defeat, he sat down and bowed his head. His claws retracted and he held his arm out, wrist up. Harth cautiously approached him, carefully reaching out and clasping the bracelet around Landguard’s wrist loosely before he dampened the rag with the bottled medicine. He held out the cloth, and Landguard stared down at it before pressing his face into the rag. It made him recoil but Harth put his empty hand behind his head and forced the cloth over his nose. It only took three or four full breaths before he was dropping into darkness again.


End file.
